


Clumsy and Embarrassed

by Resoan



Series: Drabbles, Requests, and Memes [23]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3397691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resoan/pseuds/Resoan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan finds herself frequently distracted by Solas as she and the party travel the Hinterlands. Her companions notice, including Solas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clumsy and Embarrassed

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt, Apodyopis: the act of mentally undressing someone.

Perhaps it’s simply the change in attire: a wholly new set of clothing that is so very  _un-Solas_  that the Inquisitor cannot help but pause and take notice. Or maybe it’s simply the new-found intimacy: the newness to a relationship that simultaneously feels unreal and the most _real_  thing she has ever experienced, and likely ever will.

Whatever the true reason, she finds her eyes wandering, fingers itching at her sides though she does at least have the self-control to keep them to herself - for now. She lags behind the party, though has earned a rather unsavory nickname for her strange, new clumsiness that has her tripping over misplaced stones and tree limbs knocked down from storms or decay. Varric and Iron Bull trade quips concerning their supposed-leader’s lack of finesse lately, and though Lavellan merely glances down towards her feet in shame, she misses the slight twist of Solas’s lips, the amusement twinkling in his eyes, even if he turns towards the pair and chides them quietly.  _We have a great many things to do yet_.

Lavellan catches herself just before she falls face-first into the ground, an image of a certain elf bereft of his tunic and all but his trousers burned rather hotly into her mind’s eye. The group hears her falter, and just as they turn she’s striding past them: unwilling to allow them the satisfaction of seeing her bright red cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

When the time comes to camp, Lavellan cannot look Solas in the face as Iron Bull and Varric volunteer to catch something for dinner while the elves make a fire and set up the tents. Not once does she look up from the fire pit where stacks of dry kindling and pieces of broken branches are piled, and once Solas is finished with his own task, he turns to her - though not before the qunari and the dwarf return, innuendo the first words from their lips.

The elves remain awake after the others are asleep in their tents, and only then does Solas approach, his smile a clear cross between sympathetic and knowing; he catches her arm before she can retreat into the tent, and though she doesn’t look up at him yet, he murmurs soft words to her - words that turn her skin a deep red, though she doesn’t deny the truth of them.  _Why restrict yourself solely to thoughts, vhenan?_  He asks in a whisper, a  _husky_  whisper that makes Lavellan’s heart beat all the faster.  _I am always within arm’s reach_. 

The very tip of his nose brushes her cheek, and she catches his eyes briefly before the pair duck into their own tent and what she envisions all day comes to pass: her hands map out smooth expanses of flesh, the dips and indents of scars long-since faded and the hollows of bones and the lines and sinews of muscles which noticeably quiver under her touch. Solas can scarcely get a word out before he succumbs to her entirely: his lips melding to hers and his hands a feverish frenzy in his fumbling attempts to divest her of her own clothing. 

 _Vhenan._ The word trills at the edge of his tongue, lips trembling, and mere seconds later he has lost all capability of uttering another: she has him ensorcelled, and he would have it no other way.


End file.
